


Oblitus

by who_needs_words



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eye Trauma, Ficlet, Gen, Jonah Mangus is terrible, Loss of Identity, Martin Blackwood's Domain, Mind Control, No beta we die like archival assistants, OG Elias has a shit family, OG! Elias is in Martin's domain and there is so much angst, Original Elias Bouchard needs a hug, Poor Eli he's in Martin's domain, That's it, how the hell do you tag, like I said Eli's family is shit, not a happy ending?, that's the fic, the eye trauma isn't explict but it's implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:34:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27407416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/who_needs_words/pseuds/who_needs_words
Summary: In Martin's Domain he hears a story.About a man so forgettable that his identity was stolen. So forgettable he was replaced by something so unlike himself that someone should have noticed.They never did.(or: the Original Elias Bouchard spend his eye-pocalypse in Martin's domain.  )
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Martin Blackwood
Comments: 14
Kudos: 57





	Oblitus

**Author's Note:**

> Instead of posting analysis like I usually do on Thursday I wrote this. Because I have feelings for OG!Elias 
> 
> Elias is in Martin's Domain and it is so angsty. 
> 
> It's been years since I posted fanction, so I'm a little out of practice. Sorry in advance for any mistakes.

Martin could feel his heart breaking. The him, the thing that was him, just the honest bits- it had told him so many things. About himself, about the people whose fear was keeping him alive, about what he might have to do. He didn’t want to think about that about being an avatar, living off fear, hurting others. Killing Jon. Being killed by Jon.

If he just kept waking he would find Jon, and they could leave. They could talk. He could leave this place behind. 

“Martin?” he heard his own voice call out to him. 

Martin turned to face the him that was open and honest. Also him, Martin had dubbed him. 

“Yes” he asked.

“You asked if you knew any of the people here. While I told the truth when I said you didn’t. I may have omitted some truth. There is someone here who you know of.” The also him said. 

Martin sighed and contampled talking to himself some more. Did he want to hear about this person? This lost and forgotten soul who he didn’t personally know, but did know of. 

He could leave, go find Jon. But… 

“Tell me?” He finally asked. 

The also him gave a smile and told him.

_“The thing wearing his name and face was not him._

_Sure it breathed with his lungs, talked with his voice, ate with his mouth, hell it shared the same blood and DNA as him. But it was not him, would never be him._

_And no-one noticed._

_Oh course no-one noticed._

_It wasn’t like he had friends to notice the change. Who would want to be friends with him. And if his family noticed, they only celebrated. Saying finally, he’s seen reason and is ready to be respectable member of this household. Not that they cared enough to check in to see the change._

_He was a fuck up. A pothead who only got a degree because his parents donated a building. Sure it was a Oxford degree, but it was a third in PPE. The stuff they give to useless, waste of space boys who happen to have nice smiles and families with big wallets. He was a fuck up, in turns as listless and unmoitivted as he is stubborn and determined to smear his family’s name in the mud. Always antisocial, that never changed. The few people to got past those traits realized he was much more clever then them. Because he was smart, bored and spiteful, but brilliant. That unnerved people. They thought smart people shouldn’t be filing clerks, smart people shouldn’t come in to work smelling like pot, smart people shouldn’t dress like a half-dead hippie. Smart people wore suits, vest and ties._

_God he hated ties, his parents had taught him how to put one as soon as viably possible. And of course he was expected to know how to put it on. No kind father to show him over and over gain, no sweet mother to laugh as he somehow got it caught on his head. Just silent judgment that a five year couldn’t put on a tie correctly._

_Pricks. The lot of them._

_Hateful, cold, distant pricks._

_It wasn’t just the tie, it was suits and cutting his hair and he saying couldn’t paint his nails or try on his sister’s makeup._

_Because he had a sister. One he loved. His vague memories of childhood informed him they close. Before he fucked everything up- they’d been more than siblings. They’d been friends, and allies against their cold, controlling parents._

_She was a much a perfect little lady as he was a handsome gentleman. She climbed tress with a speed that everyone envied, not that they had a lot of friends to envy them. No-on was good enough for them, if you asked their parents. According to his parents he and his sister were not to mingle with common folk._

_Later, when he would reflect, he would laugh at the comparison. But at the time he wondered where his parents from the victorian age?_

_Not that it mattered that their ideas where out-dated. They had enough money to make sure no-one said a word.  
His sister mastered the art of faking it, with ease she could pull on a perfect smile and wear the expensive dresses he could swore she hated with the grace of long practice. _

_He never did, and he hated her for being able to put on a plastic smile and make their parents happy._

_He drove away the only person who could ever understand him. And when he couldn’t find anyone to replace her, turned to drugs._

_You didn’t have to think about much a fuck-up you were when who were as high a kite. Didn’t have to examine your own isolation and loneliness when you where high. You could smile when you where high and didn’t taste like plastic and disappointment._

_Then he got a degree, because it was expected of him. He saw his parents eyes when they figured it out- that he wouldn’t get one unless they intervened. So uni got a new science building and he got shitty degree and more parental disdain then ever._

_The he got a job, he didn't even know how. He had no references, no prior experience, he didn’t even have an impressive degree. Hell he showed to the interview looking like he had just rolled out of bed. Because he had._

_Yet he still got a job, a filing clerk, sure, but a job. He stopped taking his parents money, severed the last connection to his family. Then use the scant money from work to pay for his own flat, his own food, his own drugs. He had to work extra hours to get the money so he didn’t go out. Didn’t befriend his co-workers, didn’t go on dates. The only thing he did was turn all his energy to work. He may not give a fuck about the place he worked, and came in high half the time, but he needed money._

_He somehow didn’t lose the job. He had always been smart and in this place being smart and being determined were just what you need. So against the odds he managed it, paid for everything himself. He relied on myself. He didn’t need or even want anyone else._

_It’s why no-one noticed when he changed. Before he was the anti-social pothead who worked too much overtime, was always a mess and never came out. That was it, that was all. No-one knew anything else, just that. So when 'anti-social turned to ‘forced politeness and perfect manners' no-one noticed. When ‘always a mess’ became ‘perfect hair, nails, clothes, and posture’. No-one noticed. He looked exactly like how his parents always dreamed he would. He felt the wrongness of it down to his bones. If he could even feel his bones anymore. He probably couldn’t. He couldn’t even cry._

_How did they not notice. It was 180 personality change and not a single person noticed. The others didn’t ask a single question. Even when he go the promotion. One he was in no way qualified or prepared for, they didn't noticed. The others laughed and noted how mature he had become. Told the thing trapping him how grateful they where he grew outgrew his silly rebellion._

_But it wasn’t him. He didn’t have the words to describe how not-him it was. The thing, monster, creature, evil thing stole his everything and wore him like a suit. It stole his life, name, face, everything that made him a person. Changed everything that was him, and used it for its own purposes._

_It trapped him. Made him a helpless bystander watching as he was forgotten. Kept him trapped within the prison of his own flesh, caught in the net of his own mind, only able to watched, only able to silently cry. Unnoticed by everything and everyone in existence._

_No-one noticed, not even the thing that had stolen his identity noticed. It didn't care he was tapped. All it cared about was its own goals and how best the body it stole to accomplish them._

_And so he watched as everything happened, without being able to reach out. He felt lips that were once his smile. A hand that was once his manipulated everything. People hate his now. Or more acurlety, they hate the thing that uses him name and face. Without ever knowing he wasn’t the one hurting them. They curse his name, and he doesn’t have a voice to beg for help._

_No-one noticed, no-one knows, no-on heard his cries.”_

Martin felt like crying. 

“That was...‘ he started. Horrible, tragic, gut wenching and heart breaking. “A victim of the stranger?” he said instead. Also him gave a little smile, one that told of secret kept. 

“Not a bad guess, but no”. Also him said. Martin contemplated that. Who then? Who else was trapped far away from everyone they had ever known and had their identity stolen and used by a monster. 

“Who?” He finally asked. Also him gave him a another secret filled smile.

“I can’t tell you, because you don’t know. And if someone knew he wouldn’t be suffering alone would he?” That… made sense, in the horrible, emotion based way of the apocalypse. 

“Even if you told me, I have no way of hiding this man and telling him I see his suffering. Even if I know he suffers, he will still believes he suffers alone.” Martin hated every word he spoke, but he had to know. Not in the Beholding way, of that he was sure of. He just needed to know who was suffering, another boundary of his guilt. 

Also him considered that for a moment then opened his mouth. 

“Elias. His name is Elias. And you want to kill him”

_Oh._

**Author's Note:**

> This is partially inspired by art.  
> https://milktrician.tumblr.com/post/633327162880131073/2nd-part-in-the-read-more-bc-it-got-too-long-tw
> 
> But tbh honest I've always had feels for OG!Elias and the second I heard Martin's Domain described I though he would fit right in.


End file.
